From the Street (shadowrun stories) Read online

  Its job done, the Hedgehog crawled back. I shut it down and told the Artemises to fire their payload in ten seconds, then sent them soaring toward the fence. And braced myself against the hillside so I wouldn't fall over, because I knew I'd get it when the Jabberwockies hit. A Jabberwocky is a jammer missile, which disperses transponders instead of a warhead. The transponder signals frag up sensors, remote-control transmissions, you name it, for a fifty-yard or wider radius around the point of impact. So whatever disruption they caused, the Artemises they rode on would get nailed by it too. And since I was talking to the Artemises via remote deck, I knew I'd feel the backlash until I broke the link. But in the meantime, all those sensors and perimeter drones and even the seeing-eyes on the Sentry guns'd be blind and deaf and dumb. Which meant no security rigger was going to spot my team getting through the fence and inside.

  ›

  › Jeez. Why not just walk up to the front gate and shout hello? You take out such a huge chunk of a rigged building's security systems, the rigger's gonna know the place is under attack. No way can you pass that off as a malfunction, or a hair-trigger sensor tripped by a high wind.

  › Silent Running

  › You missed a paragraph somewhere, didn't you? My team knew fragging well we were tipping corpsec off-but as long as they didn't know how big the threat was or exactly where it was coming from, all they could do was chase their tails. We figured to be in and gone before they twigged enough to matter. And we were right.

  I counted down in my head, then watched the world turn black and go dizzy for a few seconds until I closed off the link with the Artemises. I felt the rest of the team run by me, over the hill and down. While the mage tended to the magical barriers and the sams chopped through the wire, I crawled backward just enough to be completely out of range of Jabberwocky spillover, then called up the rest of my drone network. Wandjinas with Vanquishers mounted on them, these were; fast and deadly, just the thing for taking out perimeter drones. And I had to do that, both to keep myself safe once I started monkeying with the sensor port's datalines and also to keep the drones from bothering my buds on their way back out. The Jabberwocky jamming'd only keep the drones blind and deaf for so long; once it started to wear off, all those Ferrets and Dobermans and Guardians with their little turret guns would pose quite the nasty problem. Unless my Wandjinas took care of them first.

  It's a weird, weird feeling, seeing through the eyes of half a dozen drones at once. Kind of like what I imagine bug eyes must be like-all those facets showing you overlapping pictures. Except that in my case, the pictures were different instead of the same image from different angles. To run a network like that through a cranial remote deck-or any kind of wiring, for that matter-you've got to be good at multi-tasking. If you can't concentrate on a dozen things at one time before breakfast, then don't even try this stuff. You'll just make yourself sick trying to track everything, and somebody else'll have to risk her hoop bailing you out of trouble. I don't have a problem with it; but then, I was the kind of kid who liked looking at those crazy optical-illusion prints with the upside-down staircases and stuff. I sent my Wandjinas around the edges of the Jabberwockies' area of effect-couldn't send them through it, or they'd be as blind as the sec-drones they were hunting-and waited for a clear target.

  Then came the first sign of trouble. A pair of Condors appeared, floating high and distant over the top of the compound. Nuyen to noodles they were outside Jabberwocky range. They weren't mine, so I knew they could only have come from one source. The sec-rigger'd figured out that Something Big was up, and had sent a couple of spies to find out what the frag was going on.

  Well, I'd expected that. Not quite so soon, though; when I finally got to tangling mano a mano with this guy, he was going to be good. The enemy Condors weren't armed, so I ignored them and got on with the primary task: nailing the daylights out of the blinded perimeter drones, some of which were still spinning around in crazed circles. At first my Wandjinas made short work of them. After awhile, though, I saw some of the ones that'd stopped dead starting to move-sluggishly, but with purpose. They were getting out of the Wandjinas' line of fire, and a couple of Guardians were even starting to swing their turrets back and forth. Bad news for me-either the Jabberwocky effect was wearing off or the sec-rigger was using a little ECCM to overcome the Jabberwocky interference. Either way, it meant I didn't have much time. I had to take over the building system before the perimeter drones recovered, or I'd be their sitting duck.

  I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and ran up to the nearest sensor post. The access panel was easy to spot; I blew the lock on it with a short strip of acid solder, then pulled a decryption module out of the duffel. Tech-heads like me use this little hand-held meter doohickey to analyze and decrypt CCSS protocols. My Hedgehog had already told me the system was encrypted, which let me bypass the usual step of plugging in a protocol emulation module and using it to figure out what was there. Took lots less time this way, which was vital on this particular run.

  I found the junction box and carefully opened the cover plate, exposing the optic cables and electrical wires inside. Then I took out my microtronics kit and delicately spliced my own leads into the system. As I started to connect the free ends of the splice into the decrypt module, I felt a bullet punch me in the side and flatten itself against my armor. The sec-rigger had managed to get at least some of his toys working again. I had to take care of them before jacking into the building system, or they'd take care of me. Lucky thing I'd brought along a signal amplifier.

  The output from the signal booster let me call the Wandjinas in closer, within the range of the fading Jabberwocky interference. Thank the Ghost in the Machine for those boosters, and for the Battletac IVIS system some bright tech so recently came up with. Makes a combat-drone network sooo much easier to deal with… and leaves part of a rigger's mind free to take on another job, like connecting illicit wiretaps and turning on a decrypt module. The 'jinas took out a Ferret and a Guardian that were far too close for comfort. Now, I thought, and jacked in.

  Overriding a security rig is a tough job. Unlike decking, you can't rely on a clever bag of tricks to outwit any IC or other deckers you happen across. Instead, it's a pure battle of wills between you and the sec-rigger. The toughest mind wins; the loser usually ends up brain-fried or dead.

  ›

  › Just for the record, decking into a system is NOT easy. And I resent any implication to the contrary.

  › E-slipper

  › Didn't mean to rile you, E. I didn't say decking was easy. But it is different than the way a rigger taps into a system. I just wanted to get that point across.

  And now back to our feature presentation…

  A flood of images and voices surrounded me, as if I'd invaded someone else's brain (which, in a way, I had). I built a mental wall around myself as fast as I could, then formed a fist of pure willpower and struck out hard at the source of the flood. I felt an echo of dizzy pain as the blow connected-then a wallop, much more immediate and powerful enough to send my virtual self sprawling on my hoop. The sec-rigger was fighting back-and as I'd guessed, he was no slouch in the battle-of-wills department. I could feel the shape and weight of his virtual body, saw the two of us locked together in a wrestling hold. One or the other would have to give, and I was determined it wouldn't be me.

  Distantly, as if my meat body belonged to someone else, I felt the impact of more bullets against my heavy armor. I ordered my Wandjinas to redouble their assault. A few seconds later I felt the sec-rigger reel away from me, and I knew that one of my drones had blown up one of his. Impressive that he'd managed to hang in; half the time, a direct hit on a drone you're controlling will dump you right out of the system. It isn't only deckers who have to worry about dump shock.

  The next minute, that worry hit me over the head with all the subtlety of a tire iron. A Guardian got off a lucky shot that took out one of my Wandjinas, and the resulting nasty feedback damned near made me black out
from pain. But I couldn't afford to black out. I had to win this fight or die trying.

  My control of the rest of my drone network was hanging by a thread. Sick and dizzy, trying to ignore the red-and-black flashes that kept cutting across my vision, I pulled a sneaky tactic that had the added virtue of not demanding mental effort. I pushed a button on my decrypt module and sent a complicated encrypt protocol down the dataline. As I expected, the sec-drones that had been moving toward me slowed down, then stopped. None of them fired. My little encryption trick had slowed the sec-rigger's response time dramatically while he tried to sort out just what the frag I'd done. Now I had time to shake off the not-quite-dump-shock and sneak up on the fragger.

  I focused inward, then made an even bigger mental fist and slammed it down on the ghostly outlines of the sec-rigger's virtual body. As his mind wavered under the impact, I wrapped my virtual arms around his middle and squeezed. Hard. His virtual shape began to collapse, curling into a fetal position and then melting into a shapeless mass.

  Then his collapse speeded up. He was trying to wriggle out of my grip before I throttled him into a coma. A dark hole of nothing suddenly opened nearby, and the sec-rigger flowed toward it. Little fragger was trying to jack out. I stretched out a virtual leg and blocked the entrance to the hole, then wrapped around the sec-rigger again and squeezed some more until I couldn't sense his presence anywhere in the system.

  I'd won. I was the building now; I could feel every square inch of it, plus all the perimeter drones that had been doing their level best to knock out my Wandjinas. First thing I did was order the sec-drones to back off. I kept them active, though, in case I might need them to help my buds on the way out. (That old martial-arts rule is dead on target; use your enemy's strength against him as much as you can. Saves you the trouble of doing all the work yourself, and surprises the hell out of the bad guys.) The next thing I did was find my team, just in time to open some convenient doors for them without tripping any alarms. I also kept track of the Yamatetsu security guards, alerted to trouble by the security rigger before I'd dealt with him. Thanks to my Jabberwockies, they had no idea who was attacking their facility or where the team was; they jogged up and down corridors at random, not knowing where to go. For the sheer fun of it, I set off a gaggle of motion sensors several hundred yards away from where my team was. The razorboys dashed off, each of them eager to be the first one to nail himself a real live intruder.

  Needless to say, we pulled off the run and were well compensated for it. Which just goes to show what a talented rigger can do-especially if she spends her cred wisely.

  › Josie Cruise

  MISSION IMPROBABLE

  Written by Diane Piron-Gelman and Robert Cruz, based on stories by Jonathan Szeto

  It started as a simple job. (How many times have you heard that in your life!) I should have known; few things in my life are ever simple, but that's what you get when you're a smuggler and sometime runner, making your living outsmarting the Powers That Be. I'd been hired by a Johnson to retrieve a certain package from an island that lay in Salish territory, which made sending a ground team a difficult proposition. Border crossings and fake datawork and all, you know-and it'd have to be good datawork, in case the Salish authorities decided to get picky about "interlopers" from the UCAS. Good, of course, meaning expensive. Even at my hefty fee, I was cheaper than the usual running team. The Johnson and her up-front cred checked out, so I took the job. A simple helicopter flight out to the island, a quick in-and-out, return trip and a hand-over-easy money, I thought.

  I drove my favorite car to the place where I'd hidden my 'copter away. She was my pride and joy, that Airstar-a good sturdy workhorse of a vehicle, with plenty of nifty mods I'd made myself. Any decent rigger, in my opinion, also ought to be a halfway decent mechanic-especially a rigger like me, who couldn't always count on a talented and discreet mechanic turning up if a smuggling run went sour.

  I waved hello to the maintenance crew, but didn't make much small talk. No time to chat when biz was waiting to be done. They gave me an all-systems-go report, which was all I needed to hear. I strode up to the Airstar, checked to make sure I had plenty of ammo for my gun, then climbed into the pilot's seat.

  I jacked into the helicopter's rig and the virtual heads-up display blossomed before my eyes. Dizziness hit me for a split second; then my mind adjusted to the blizzard of input from the view screens, which were arrayed before me like the many facets of a cut diamond. The screens showed views from every angle, as well as numerous data displays. At the moment, the largest screen, positioned squarely in the center, displayed the status of the Airstar's system as it warmed up.

  As I summoned the helicopter to life, I could feel the rumble of the Pratt Whitney turbojet engines in my chest. The chopper's blades seemed to rotate in sync with the blood pulsing through my limbs. I shifted into forward visual mode; a small icon blinked in a corner of the main view screen, indicating that the hangar door had opened. I was cleared for takeoff.

  I pulled my legs into a crouch. The rotating blades went from a whine to a roar in response. I leaped upward and the helicopter rose, slowly but surely soaring upward through the rooftop hangar door. Once I'd gotten several dozen meters above the roof of the warehouse, I set the chopper to hovering briefly as I scanned the Seattle sprawl far below. The low background levels of thermal and electromagnetic radiation emanating from the city showed up as a dull red and green glow in my display. I spotted no active radiation sources, which meant no one was watching right now.

  I turned my attention to the navigational screen. It showed my target destination as a red dot, a tiny island of hot brightness in the deep, cool blue of the Pacific Ocean. With another flicker of thought I commanded the screen to display known sensor watch posts. They appeared as small radar-dish icons giving off white waves.

  I swiftly plotted a course that eluded most of the lookout points, then stretched my arms over my head, twisted my body toward Puget Sound, and swept my arms down to my sides. The Airstar turned and sped toward the moonlight that glinted off the Sound.

  This was going to be a cakewalk. Breeze on out to the target, pick up the package and come back home. I'd be back in time for happy hour at the Shack-and this time able to pay my tab, and just maybe buy a round or three for a certain pretty lady I'd had my eye on recently. Yep, this was just the kind of job I liked best…

  Suddenly the chopper's warning klaxons started screaming. I turned my head and my visual display rotated until the rear view screen occupied my central window. On it I saw two dark flecks against the pink and gray pre-dawn sky. The Airstar's Identify Friend or Foe transponders identified the craft as two F-B Eagle interceptors from the UCASAF's Fifth Air Wing based at McChord.

  Before I could make another move, bright spurts of thermographic orange blossomed under the wings of both interceptors and the helicopter's targeting alarm began to shriek. A warning message flashed on my heads-up display-both interceptors had locked on to the Airstar and fired air-to-air missiles.

  Instinctively, I arched my body toward the coastline, a movement that turned the helicopter. At the same time I started kicking my legs furiously like an Olympic swimmer, sending the chopper screaming toward the land. But my evasive action didn't fool the missiles' targeting sensors. The deadly projectiles twisted and dove after me.

  Time for Plan B, then. I focused my mind on the right control, and a giant red "PANIC" button materialized under my left hand. I slapped the button. Explosive charges planted at strategic points along the chopper's body detonated, destroying the brackets that held the Airstar's outer shell in place. As the shell fell away, it revealed a second skin coated with radarbane.

  I knew I wasn't out of trouble yet. I jackknifed my body toward the floor like a diver, and five small parachutes blossomed from the 'copter as it plunged into a power dive. Thermite flares swung from two of the chutes, bunched strips of aluminum chaff from two more. The last chute supported a small rocket, hardly large enough
to dent a paper airplane, but containing a transponder and flare that mimicked the Airstar's thermal and electromagnetic signature. The chopper's radarbane skin would cloak it from the missile's targeting sensors, and the chaff and flares would temporarily confuse the two missiles, which would then lock on to the decoy rocket.

  I hoped.

  Scant seconds after I'd I punched the panic button I felt my virtual body convulse as the shock waves from two explosions rocked the helicopter. I twisted around, bringing the chopper face-to-face with my two attackers, and the direction-finding axes of the Airstar's targeting program appeared on the main view screen. I selected and armed two anti-radiation missiles, then cut them loose as soon as I heard the lock-on chirp twice. The ARMs appeared like two streaks against the sky as they homed in on the strong signals from the pursuing flyboys' jammers. A half-second later the 'copter's targeting alarm fell silent, which told me that the missiles had destroyed the F-Bs' targeting sensors. (Thank heaven for ARMs. They lock on to a target's emissions, so the stronger your opponent's sensors and jammers, the better the chance your ARMs will find their mark. The F-Bs' ECM suites would have spiked most of my weapons for sure if the flyboys'd had a chance to use them. But the ARMs homed in on the jammer signals and saved my hoop.)

  Both pursuing planes wavered for a few seconds as small explosions erupted in their noses where their targeting sensors had been. Then the flyboys swung around and streaked past me, strafing the Airstar with miniguns. I kept the chopper diving toward the shoreline; I could feel my skin twitching as I pushed the Airstar beyond its limits and its body buckled under the strain.

  Before the flyboys could swing around for a second pass, a green wave of Salish radar passed over my view screen. I'd entered Salish-Shidhe airspace-safe territory for me as far as my two hunters were concerned. (Though not exactly safe per se…) The zoomies broke off pursuit, apparently unwilling to risk an international incident for one lone 'copter. After a few seconds I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd heard no warnings from Salish air-traffic control, which meant it hadn't detected me.